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"All or Nothing - Part 6"

Title: All or Nothing P6
Pairing: Micky/Mike
Rating: NC-17
Author: Shawna


Micky walked into the house, weary from his trip and not looking forward to his first encounter with Mike. He had called from his mother’s house several times while he was gone in the hopes of talking to him, but had only spoken with Peter. He wasn’t really surprised, but it didn’t make it hurt any less to know that Mike was avoiding him. Setting his suitcase down, he looked around the house. Peter was in the kitchen making himself something to eat, but Mike and Davy were nowhere in sight.

Peter looked back from where he stood at the counter and saw Micky in the doorway. “Hey, man!” he called to him. He set his sandwich fixings down and brushed the crumbs from his hands as he walked over to him.

“Hi, Pete,” he replied.

“You hungry? I was just getting myself something…” He started walking back to the kitchen.

“Yeah, thanks,” Micky said as he followed him. He pulled out a chair and glanced up at his and Mike’s closed bedroom door. “Where is everybody?”

Peter set a couple of sodas and a bag of chips on the table. “Mike’s upstairs, sleeping again; and Davy’s…” He pretended to be interested in his whereabouts. “I don’t know where Davy is.”

“Is he still thinking of moving out?” he asked, recalling what Peter had told him during one other their telephone conversations.

He nodded. “Half of his stuff is gone already, and he’s been spending his nights who-knows-where. It’s fine with me, though,” he said as he set a plated sandwich in front of Micky. “I don’t have to listen to his snoring anymore.”

Micky took a drink of soda. “How’s Mike?” he asked, trying to keep his tone normal.

“When he’s not sleeping, he’s like a bear that just woke up from hibernation,” he replied, sitting down to his own sandwich. “He doesn’t eat; at least, not that I’ve seen. Hell, about the only time he comes downstairs is to use the john.”

“Well, his hand is probably giving him a lot of pain,” Micky made excuse.

“That’s not all that’s bothering him,” Peter replied. “He’s really depressed. I don’t know if he’s worried that he won’t be able to play again or what; but something’s really got him down.”

Micky tried to keep eating so that Peter wouldn’t suspect anything, but his appetite was gone. “The doctor said that he’d be okay, though; didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know that I’d put too much trust in a doctor who did to me what that guy did to Mike.” He picked up his dishes and walked them to the sink. “Besides, he’s been taking a lot of pain pills. That can really throw you into some serious mood swings.”

He looked up. “How many has he been taking?” he asked, worried.

“Not enough to kill himself or anything,” Peter assured him. “I don’t know. It’s just so weird seeing him like this, you know?”

Micky nodded. “So, how’s your new gig going?” he tried to change the subject.

“Pretty good. We’re playing at the Club Cassandra.” He checked his watch and then walked to the bandstand. “I told Mike about it; you know, hoping he’d want to come out and see us.”

“No luck?”

“No,” he shook his head and picked up his guitar. “Look, I gotta get over there to help set up and rehearse one more time. If you wanna come, we start around eight.”

He knew he wouldn’t go, but acted as if he was considering it. “I have to get up early tomorrow,” he said, referring to his date with the draft board.

Peter’s expression changed. “Yeah. Well, if you change your mind…” he said as he opened the front door.

“Thanks, Pete.”

Micky watched him leave and then checked the time, contemplating whether or not he should try to rouse Mike. It seemed that he hadn’t told Peter anything about their fight, which Micky found somewhat curious. The whole reason it had gotten physical to begin with was because Mike almost told the guys what had been going on. The incident replayed itself in his head for the millionth time, reinforcing the guilt that he felt over it. Finally, he decided to go upstairs and get the inevitable over with.

He knocked on the bedroom door and listened for a reply. When he didn’t get one, he knocked again and then slowly opened the door and peeked inside. The room was dark and stuffy, and dirty laundry was strewn about the floor. He sighed and stepped into the room, leaving the door wide open behind him; and then went to the window and pulled up the shade before opening it to let in some fresh air. The sound and light caused Mike to stir, but only enough to turn away from the window and toward the wall. Micky leaned over and shook him gently.

“Mike?” There was no response. “Mike?” He shook him again.

“What?” Mike answered, irritated.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he said quietly.

Mike opened his eyes, suddenly recognizing the voice. He didn’t want to turn around for fear of being disappointed again. Every time he’d heard that voice in the last few days, he’d dreamed it. The hand on his shoulder felt real enough, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Come on, Mike.”

When Mike finally looked at him, Micky was taken aback. His face was covered with thick stubble, his hair was dirty, and his bloodshot eyes were rimmed with dark circles. He looked startled, but it was hard to tell if it was because of Micky’s presence or because of the sunlight that now filled the room. It was obvious that he hadn’t been taking care of himself; and Micky hated knowing that, whether directly or indirectly, he was the reason for it.

Mike started to sit up. He had that all-too-familiar feeling in his stomach and he knew that he looked like hell. He was somewhat embarrassed about it until he noticed the look in Micky’s eyes, and all of the feelings of loneliness and longing that he’d had during his absence began to fade. If there was one thing he didn’t need from Micky, it was his pity. As had become his routine after waking up, he reached for his pills. He was a bit unsteady, though, and the bottle fell to the floor when he tried to grab it.

Micky picked it up and handed it to him. “Does your hand hurt?” he asked lamely.

“Of course it hurts,” Mike said as he yanked the bottle away from him. He then expertly opened it one-handed and popped a pill, dry. When he set the bottle back on the table, he saw that Micky was staring at him again. “What?” he asked, annoyed.

Seeing Mike in the sunlight confirmed what Peter had told him. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

Mike looked at him sharply. “Who are you, my mother?”

Micky sighed in frustration, then crossed the room and started picking up the dirty clothes.

“Leave everything where it is,” Mike said.

“The place is a sty,” he replied, going on with what he was doing.

Mike got up and went to him, shoving the clothes out of his hands and back to the floor. “I said, leave it alone. They’re my clothes, and when they need to be picked up, I’ll do it myself.”

“Well, I’m not gone yet,” Micky said, “and I’m not going to live in the middle of a dirty laundry pile.”

“Then go downstairs and share Peter’s room. Davy’s practically moved out, and I’d rather be alone anyway.”

Micky seized the opportunity. “I thought that’s exactly what you didn’t want.”

Mike took a few deep breaths and tried to convince himself that he was angry; that he didn’t care about Micky and that he couldn’t be rid of him soon enough. But it was a lie. He had only come to care for him more since he’d been gone, and being reminded of those feelings was too much for him to take. He felt himself starting to break down and turned quickly away from him. Noticing his robe hanging on the bed post, he decided that taking a bath would be as good a reason as any to get away from Micky for a while. He grabbed it and walked out of the room without a word.

Micky smiled at the slight victory. At least he’d gotten Mike out of bed; which, according to Peter, was more than he’d done for himself in the last few days. He finished picking up the clothes and stripped the beds of the dirty sheets; then stuffed the laundry, including his own, into a duffle bag. Before he hauled it downstairs, he took Mike’s pills and put them in his pocket. He would be angry, but Micky would deal with that when he got back.

* * *

Mike stepped out of the bathroom, feeling much better for having washed the grime of the last few days from his body. It had taken a relatively long time, but he supposed it was worth it. It would give Micky one less thing to nag him about, he told himself as he pulled his robe closed and walked toward the staircase. He was beginning to think that he might actually feel like eating something when he saw the plate on the kitchen table. The note next to it was short and sweet.

“I’m at the laundromat. Make sure you eat this.”

Mike flung the note aside. Part of him wanted to eat the sandwich, chips and soda that were sitting there so neatly prepared; but part of him wanted to tell Micky to shove them straight up his ass. He hated this. He hated the implication that he needed to be taken care of; that he had to rely on anybody else for help. He stood there stewing about it for a while, until finally his hunger gained dominance over his pride and he yanked the chair out from the table and sat down. He ate slowly; his mind drifting back to something Micky had said earlier… that he wasn’t gone yet. That was true. He was going to meet with the draft board tomorrow, but he probably wouldn’t receive his orders for another couple of months. Even if Mike couldn’t convince him to stay, the two of them had to find some way to live with each other until then.

* * *

Micky came home a few hours later to the sound of someone swearing and rummaging around upstairs. He sighed and set down the duffel of clean clothes and then went to deal with Mike, who had apparently discovered that his pills were missing. Not wanting to take him by surprise, he called to him as he ascended the stairs.

“Mike?”

The noise stopped and Mike appeared in the doorway. “Did you take my pills?”

Micky took some satisfaction in noting that Mike looked a little better than he had when he left; cleaner, at any rate. He reached in his pocket and produced the bottle. “Here,” he said, holding it out to him. “I knew I’d be back before you needed another dose so—”

Mike grabbed the pills from him and immediately took one. He then put the bottle in his own pocket for safekeeping. “You’ve got a hell of a nerve,” he said. “Stealing my pills, doing my laundry, making my dinner… You think I can’t take care of myself?”

Micky glanced downstairs and saw that some of the food he had left earlier was gone. “It’s not that you can’t take care of yourself,” he answered. “I think you just don’t give a damn right now.”

“No, I don’t give a damn. Everything I do care about is—”

He stopped and silently cursed himself. He looked down at his injured hand and painfully wiggled the fingers. His anger began to resurface, and he decided that he was going to give Micky something fresh to think about when he met with the draft board in the morning. He grabbed him and pulled him close; looking intently into his eyes before kissing him forcefully.

Micky was taken by surprise, not only by the action, but by how rough Mike was being with him. It ended as suddenly as it had begun, and then he was being pushed away.

“Get undressed,” Mike ordered.

Micky hesitated. Intimacy with Mike was something that he had missed more than he could have imagined; and part of him was willing to do whatever it took to experience it again, but another part of him wasn’t sure about giving in to him like this. While he debated with himself on his course of action, Mike took a fistful of his shirt and pulled at it.

“What are you waiting for?” Mike said, more a challenge than a question.

Micky kept his eyes locked on him as he began unbuttoning his shirt. His mind wandered back to the sex dreams he’d had while he was away; vivid fantasies where Mike let loose on him, fucking him without mercy until Micky thought he couldn’t take it anymore. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind, but his body was already responding to the mental images. His cock began straining against his pants; something which didn’t escape Mike’s gaze.

Mike was cautious not to let his satisfaction register on his face; but the closer Micky got to being naked, the more his own cock betrayed him. He was about to pull off his t-shirt, but instead decided that he would have Micky do it for him. Undressing another man would probably be a first for him, and it would serve to further establish Mike’s dominance over the evening’s activities. But he had to play this carefully; he didn’t want to frighten Micky away from him forever. Rather, he wanted to instill in him the desire stay with him and to tell the draft board – and everyone else – exactly what was going on.

As Micky discarded his shirt and started unbuckling his belt, he couldn’t help but look Mike over. He seemed to be sporting a hard on of his own, but he wasn’t disrobing yet. Before he could proceed any further, Mike stopped him.

“Wait,” he said.

He looked at him warily. “What?”

Mike took a step toward him. “Take this off,” he said, tugging at his own shirt.

Micky swallowed hard as Mike closed the distance between them and then began pulling the garment loose from his pants. Being this close to him, Micky could smell his cologne and hear his breathing; and his senses started to open up for what was in store. He closed his eyes slightly as he lifted the shirt up over Mike’s head and tossed it to the floor. When he was done, he backed away from him.

Rather than speaking, Mike motioned for Micky to continue his undressing. As he did, Mike considered how he would proceed. He wouldn’t be able to fondle him much as he would’ve liked, with his hand in the cast. He was getting better at doing things left-handed; but he still felt awkward, and he didn’t want to let any kind of weakness show tonight. He decided that he would give Micky a lesson on how to please him instead. When the younger man kicked off his shorts, Mike smugly noted how stiff his cock already was. He then glanced down at his own jeans, silently commanding Micky to take them off for him.

Micky approached him and then crouched down slightly so that he could better see what he was doing. He noticed Mike’s breathing becoming heavier as he fumbled nervously with his fly. His own heart pounded as he gently tugged at the garment, pulling it down past Mike’s hips and to his ankles. He hoped that Mike would finish the task himself, but all he did was lift one leg and then the other so that Micky could pull the jeans off the rest of the way. His face was close to his crotch now, and Micky could see through Mike’s shorts how hard he was. He glanced up at him as he removed the last of his clothing, and then slowly started to rise.

“Stay there,” Mike said. When Micky looked up at him again, Mike thought he would come right then and there. Having him in this position was a dream come true. “Have you ever sucked cock before?” he asked, his voice husky with anticipation.

He maintained eye contact with him. “You know I haven’t.”

“Then it’s about time you learned how,” Mike said as he sat on the edge of the bed, his cock standing at attention.

Micky knelt down, his face inches away from Mike’s swollen member. He unconsciously licked his lips as he stared at it, wondering how he should start. He could feel Mike looking at him, waiting for him to do something. Finally, he took a gentle hold of it and began stroking it slowly. For a brief moment he thought of the first and only time he’d had his hand on Mike’s cock – that night under the deck. He had done a pretty good job of pleasing him then, but he knew that a hand job wasn’t what Mike wanted from him now.

He glanced up at him again before lowering his head. His hand was still on the shaft as he opened his mouth slightly and touched his tongue to the head. He heard Mike sigh as he slowly took it into his mouth and rolled his tongue over it. To Micky’s surprise, it felt strangely natural; and instead of concentrating and thinking too much about what he was doing, he simply let his intuition guide him. He felt Mike shift his position, and looked up to see that he was now leaning back on his elbows.

Mike gave him the slightest hint of a smile, encouraging him to continue with his learning exercise. When Micky again lowered his head and bravely tackled the rest of his cock, Mike couldn’t help but moan. He closed his eyes tightly, willing himself to maintain his composure. He didn’t want to relinquish control of the situation by letting Micky know what a great job he was doing. Mike wondered if this was another dream; if he would wake up yet again to nothing but harsh reality. He ventured to place his hand where Micky’s head should be, and was gratified to encounter the thick curls he had expected to find there. He entwined his fingers in the unruly mass and gently pushed him down.

Micky tried to relax as Mike began thrusting his hips upward, fucking his mouth. As soon as he thought he had gotten the hang of it, Mike’s movements slowed and he let out a series of unmistakable grunts. A split second later, Micky’s mouth was filled with his juices. After what seemed like an eternity, Mike untangled his fingers from his hair; and he was able to come up for air. Micky looked up at him, wanting to ask him how he had done; but that somehow seemed too submissive. Instead, he sat back on his heels and waited for him to recover.

“Satisfied?” he asked when Mike finally sat up.

“Not bad, for a beginner,” he answered dryly as he glanced down at Micky’s swollen cock. He smiled inwardly, knowing how much he must want some attention of his own now.

He couldn’t fuck him just yet, much as he wanted to. He thought of making Micky jerk off while he watched, but he didn’t want to humiliate him. Besides, that would be a waste of a perfectly good hard on. He stood, as did Micky; and the two of them looked at each other silently. Mike softened his expression slightly before putting his arms around him and kissing him. It wasn’t a tender kiss, but rather a lustful kiss that let Micky know he wasn’t done with him yet. He turned him around so that his back was toward the bed, and then pushed him down.

“Lie down,” he said.

Micky dizzily complied, hoping that Mike would give him some kind of relief soon. He thought perhaps that he would go down on him; but instead, he sat on the bed and leaned over him. Micky closed his eyes as Mike pushed the curls back from his face and kissed him again. He heard the drawer of the bedside table opening, but didn’t comprehend the meaning until Mike suddenly broke off the kiss and straddled him. Micky opened his eyes and in Mike’s hand he saw a familiar bottle.

“Mike, what are you—?” He stopped when he felt the baby oil being spread over his cock. The contact alone was enough to send him through the ceiling; but then he understood the implications of what Mike was doing.

Mike continued wordlessly with his task. If this wasn’t enough to make Micky want to stay with him, nothing would be. Besides, it had been a long time since he’d been fucked, and he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather take it from than Micky. He tossed the bottle aside and adjusted his position; then, looking into his eyes, lowered himself onto him. The sensation was exquisite.

Micky took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had never felt anything so tight, and when Mike began making slow and purposeful movements, it was all Micky could do not to scream. He forced his eyes open and looked at him. His face was flushed, his soft brown eyes were glazed, and the slightest sheen of perspiration glistened on his skin. Micky’s gaze trailed from his face down past his chest to where their bodies met. With each movement, he saw the muscles of Mike’s strong thighs tensing and relaxing, and felt his semi-rigid member against his belly.

Mike leaned forward and kissed him hard as he continued with his steady pace. His wakening cock was sandwiched between them, and the friction soon brought it fully back to life. He moaned into Micky’s mouth before lightly nibbling his way down his neck and to his chest. He knew from the sounds Micky was starting to make that he was close to coming, and he didn’t want to be left out. Quickly sitting back up, he took Micky’s hand and placed it on his own throbbing cock. He smiled when he wrapped his fingers around the shaft and began stroking it hard and fast. They matched each other’s rhythms and just as Mike felt his release, he heard Micky’s cry.

After a moment, Mike separated from him and got dressed. He walked out of the room without saying a word; and left Micky to contemplate their future.

* * *

Micky sat on a hard wooden chair, nervously bouncing his legs, and folding and unfolding the paper he had been told to give to the doctor. He glanced around at the other young men who waited to be called for their physicals, and it was like looking in a mirror. They all had long hair, they all wore similar clothing, and they all had the same expression of dread on their faces. Some of them were talking to each other, but Micky didn’t feel like striking up a conversation with anybody; he was too busy talking internally with himself.

The whole situation with Mike had become more complex than it ever should have been. There was no doubt that they were physically compatible, but there was more to it than just sexual satisfaction. The two of them were now engaged in a mental and emotional battle for which Micky hadn’t been prepared. But it wasn’t only Mike that he was fighting; it was his own inner demons. At first, the prospect of anyone knowing about them was more frightening to him than going off to war; but after last night, he wasn’t sure if he really cared what anyone else thought.

“George Dolenz,” a voice called, jarring him out of his thoughts.

Micky didn’t realize right away that he was the one being called; he was so unused to being addressed by his proper name. He blinked a few times and stood up slowly. It was like being in a horror movie; dozens of people watching him as he walked the seemingly endless corridor to the small room where the doctor would examine him. He clutched at the paper in his hand and his heart felt like it would fly out of his chest, it was pounding so hard. The man led him inside, and when he closed the door behind them, it felt to Micky as if the lid of his coffin was closing.

* * *

Mike paced anxiously around the living room, waiting for Micky to return. He checked his watch for the hundredth time and ran his hand through his hair. When he let it drop back down, he grazed the lamp that was on the table next to him. He was unable to stop it from falling; and when it hit the floor, its porcelain base shattered. He glanced quickly toward Peter’s bedroom, thankful that he was such a sound sleeper.

He looked down at the broken pieces, which seemed like a metaphor of his life right now. God, he wished he knew what Micky was telling the draft board. He hadn’t seen him before he left that morning, and they hadn’t talked at all after their activity the night before. Mike absently kicked at the remains of the lamp and wondered if he had really done all he could to convince Micky to stay.

There was one thing he could have done, but it was too late now. How could he expect Micky to find the courage to face his inner fears when Mike couldn’t even find the courage to say three words? His mind raced with what-if’s, and he began to feel like a caged animal. He was about to leave his mess and go for a walk on the beach when he heard the front door opening.

Micky walked in; his expression blank, giving no indication of what had happened at his meeting. He closed the door and turned to Mike, but didn’t say anything. Instead, the two of them just stood and looked at each other.

“What happened?” Mike finally asked.

Micky walked over to him. “They rejected me,” he answered simply.

Mike’s heart jumped and he smiled broadly. “I knew you could do it!” he said, grabbing Micky and pulling him into a bear hug.

He didn’t return the embrace. “Mike…”

“I was nervous as a first-time father,” he continued, letting him go and resuming his pacing. “You really had me worried for a while—”

“Mike,” he said again, interrupting his elated rambling. He looked at him guiltily. “I didn’t tell them.”

The smile disappeared from his face. “What are you talking about?” he asked, confused.

“I didn’t have to,” Micky said quietly. “I… failed my physical.”

Mike felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. The images he’d had in his head of the two of them living happily ever after vanished in a wave of concern. He stared at him, looking for signs of whatever had caused his rejection by the draft board.

“Just what’s wrong with you?” he asked, his voice catching slightly in his throat.

He looked down at himself and then back to Mike. “I’m too skinny,” he said with a chuckle.

“That’s it? You’re too fucking skinny?”

Micky failed to notice that he wasn’t laughing. “Yeah,” he nodded. “So it turns out all that worry was for nothing.”

Mike’s relief that Micky was alright was immediately pushed aside by his aggravation. “Nothing?” he asked. “What if you hadn’t failed? What would you have told them?”

“What?”

“What would you have told them?” he asked again, raising his voice and punctuating each word.

Micky took a few steps away from him and rubbed at the back of his neck. It was a question he had asked himself a hundred times since he left the draft office, but he still didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

Mike followed him and turned him back around. “Yes you do. Tell me.”

“Mike…”

“Tell me, dammit!”

“What difference does it make what I would have told them?” he asked, frustrated that they had returned to that familiar argument. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said flatly.

He looked at him, incredulous. “So what happens now with you and me?”

Micky had been so relieved that he didn’t have to reveal their secret that he hadn’t thought about their future together. He looked at Mike blankly, unable to give him an answer.

“Because I’ll tell you, Mick,” he continued, “if you can’t come clean about us, then there is no more us.”

He couldn’t believe that Mike was giving him an ultimatum. What they had was fine just the way it was, and he couldn’t understand his insistence on going public. “Why can’t we keep our private life to ourselves?” he asked, exasperated.

Mike smiled wryly. “It’s not private anymore; my lovely ex has seen to that.”

“But that’s not why I was rejected,” Micky quickly replied, as if practicing for when he’d have to start explaining himself to their friends.

“You think that’ll make a difference? People are gonna believe what they want to believe.” He stood in front of him and placed his hand on his cheek. “Besides, I don’t wanna keep quiet about it anymore,” he said, his voice softening. “I can’t pretend that you’re nothing more to me than a friend. I can’t look at you without wanting to haul you upstairs and make love to you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Without waiting for a reply, Mike leaned in and kissed him tenderly; but instead of letting himself be caught up in the moment, he forced himself to stay focused. He wanted to remember every last detail of how Micky felt, tasted and smelled. He needed to create an indelible memory of him; for if Micky didn’t respond the way he hoped, that’s all Mike would have left.

The kiss ended and Mike lightly embraced him, resting his head on his shoulder. He took a deep breath and summoned his own courage. “I love you,” he whispered.

Micky didn’t realized how much he’d wanted to hear those words until Mike actually said them. He felt an almost physical pain as his heart battled his head over his reply. He closed his eyes and sighed as he held him closer, and his fears about what lay ahead of them faded. It would be naïve to think that life with Mike would be utter bliss; but the prospect of life without him was almost unbearable. They parted, and Micky looked into his eyes.

“I love you, too.”